In this month of writing, there comes a point where strangely, I begin to miss words.
Writing requires the active arrangement of words on the page. We must come at it thoughtfully. There is no vague. It is about precise. Even in vague images there needs to be an exactness about directions the reader might go. There isn’t much room for breathing. We offer space between the words but we can’t take any of that space for our own. Breathe quick and find the next word. Lay it down. Carefully. Make a path. Lure the reader down it.
I am so tired of my words. I am bored by them. I am lost in them. It’s not calming. It’s irksome. It itches. It irritates. I want to pull a large blanket over my head and hide. I want to hear nothing from me.
I need to go read. Pages and pages of words that I don’t need to organize. Words that I can ignore or scrutinize. Words that can lead me away. Or lead me within. Or take me around and around and around and it’s okay if I end up nowhere and have only had the journey.
I am missing words. From other people’s stories. I want the time to step into another life. To turn around and look at it from multiple perspectives. I want to be able to notice the amazing of word choice that makes a moment. I want the chance to not be conscious at all. To not be aware of why I was knocked over by a section of text that held me and spun me and whirled me around. I want to stagger away and be transformed.
Through words, I want to feel. To be moved. To become tangled up and not need to weave the way out.
I need time to be reading.
To be changed by a story.
The chance to forget to breathe. And then to cry. To feel everything inside someone else’s head.
I want to examine another life and know how little and how much I know.
I am missing words.
I am participating in the Slice of Life challenge to write and publish a post every day in March.
Slice of Life is hosted by Two Writing Teachers. I thank them for the community they provide. Read more slices here.